


domesticated bliss (ain't it enough)

by gavorn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, misuse of italics, shameless self indulgent shmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavorn/pseuds/gavorn
Summary: I have no excuses to offer you except that I really love Inquisition and these boys in particular and I had ~~feelings~~.





	domesticated bliss (ain't it enough)

_“Holy-”_  
Dorian and Bull are both on their feet before Lavellan can finish speaking. It’s not that they think he can’t take care of himself, but the look on his face - pale, shocked, he’s horrified - is enough to have them both immediately rushing towards him.   
“What happened?” Dorian questions first, once they’ve confirmed he’s not actually about to fall over (he’s been gathered in Bull’s arms nonetheless).   
“Cole,” Lavellan says fervently, looking just as baffled as Dorian feels.   
It’s not life-threatening, Dorian’s fairly sure. Nobody is in danger. He can’t help but imagine what in the world could have happened, though. Is Cole- what, is he leaving? He left?   
“Cole... _what?”_ Bull’s always been good at keeping things on track in a crisis. Not that this is a crisis, but something is clearly wrong, and Dorian’s not exactly helping figure things out himself.   
“Cole,” Lavellan says, still looking almost frightened, “and _Krem._ ”   
Krem?  
What does Krem have to -  
“Holy shit.”   
Krem’s inclusion is apparently startling enough that Bull’s nearly dropped Lavellan to the ground, and he makes an indignant noise of protest.   
“Cole and Krem were what?” Dorian has to ask.   
“Fingers.” He waves them frantically in Dorian’s face. “Fingers, Dorian! In the attic!”   
Fingers?  
Oh.  
 _Oh._  
That’s normally the first place Dorian’s mind goes. Truth be told he’s rather disappointed in himself. In his defense, though, Cole and Krem are both very firmly non-sexual beings in Dorian’s mind, and he’s not happy with the images this is conjuring up.   
Cole and Krem.   
_Cole_ and _Krem._   
_Cole_ and _Krem_ doing _that_.  
Maker, but Dorian isn’t happy about this. He supposes he should be. He does like Cole quite a lot, and Krem’s a fine young man after all. But the idea of them doing… _that_ …  
If Dorian’s having difficulty with this, he can’t imagine what Bull must be thinking. He looks like he’s staring death itself right in the face.

The door opens. It’s the very people being discussed, because the Maker has no mercy for awkward conversations, clearly. Krem’s fidgeting with the front of his pants, like they’d needed to make things any clearer. Is he grinning? He is. The bastard.   
There’s a high-pitched murmuring sound, and it takes Dorian a moment to place it as coming from Bull. Dorian’s heard a lot of noises from him, but never anything quite like that.   
“Cole?” he asks finally, disparagingly. “It had to be Cole?”   
“It usually does,” Cole says cryptically, staring at his shoes. Bull gives him a look. “I’m talking to you about this later,” he says. “That’s a whole different thing, right there.”

“He didn’t know anything,” Krem says, shit-eating grin still firmly in place. “So I had to teach him a few things about how to please a lady. Or a gentleman, as the case might be. Skills are still applicable.”   
Lavellan, for his part, is hiding his face firmly in Bull’s shoulder. He’s normally open about sex to the point where it’d be a problem if both his partners weren’t exhibitionists. And, yes, it’s Cole and Krem, and that’s horrifying, but still. They’re adults, aren’t they? They must be. And if they were consenting, then that’s -  
Dorian makes the mistake of looking back at Cole, who’s intently watching a spider weave a web, looking concerned for it.   
Maker, no, they’re right. Cole’s an infant.  
“Ugh,” Lavellan says eloquently. Dorian concurs.   
“Well,” Dorian says, after a long silence. “We...shouldn’t talk about this right now. We’ll, ah, come find you two crazy kids later. Please don’t be doing what you were doing. I mean, if you have to, just find a room with a door that locks. _Please._ ”   
He wraps his arm around Bull’s bicep and pulls him out of the room, Lavellan in tow. He’s shocked enough to still be pliable, otherwise Dorian would have no hope of attempting to lead him anywhere without informing him first. Once they’re down the hall a ways he stops, almost knocked over when Bull automatically continues forward.   
(Bull catches him. He always does.)  
“What the _fuck_ ,” Lavellan whines, still hiding his face. “I can’t believe I saw that. What could I have possibly done to deserve something this bad?”  
“You have an undead horror show crawling up your tiny arse every opportunity it gets,” Dorian points out. “Shouldn’t that be worse?”   
“No.”   
“Fair point.”   
Bull makes another low, devastated noise.   
“So,” Dorian says finally, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re possibly going to do about this, but I doubt it’ll be fun for anyone involved.”   
“ _I_ do,” Lavellan says ominously. “I’m going to kill them both. And then maybe myself.”   
(Bull’s hand tightens around Lavellan’s shoulders.) “No, you’re not.”  
“No,” he says agreeably, “I’m not.”  
Dorian sighs, one of those long, drawn-out sighs of _why in the Maker’s name does this kind of thing keep happening to me._  
“They’re just...having fun,” he points out, knowing even as he says it that it’s useless. “It’s not like..”  
“Like _what,_ Dorian?” Lavellan’s getting increasingly hysterical. “Like Krem wasn't seducing my-my-Cole?”   
“You're not actually his father, darling,” Dorian reminds, getting a near-lethal glare for his trouble.   
“I might as well be,” Lavellan mumbles.   
“You're, what? Three, four years older than him?” Bull adds.  
Lavellan rests his forehead against the wall with a dull thump. “I hate you both,” he says.

 

It's some time before any of them have mustered up the courage to do anything more about the situation. Lavellan claimed he'd been traumatized already, that any more accidental voyeurism would have a lasting effect on his psyche. They’d made fun of him until he’d turned those big, pleading eyes on Bull, and begged him to go find Cole in his place. (He’d done so nigh-immediately, of course. Dorian would’ve mocked him, if he hadn’t known he was nearly in the same place himself.)   
Bull found Cole (without Krem, thankfully) and escorted him back to the Inquisitor’s quarters, where they’d settled to have a discussion in the hallway. Up the stairs Dorian and Lavellan were listening intently and pretending not to eavesdrop, however transparent they may have been. “A person-shaped need,” Cole's saying. “Hands fitting between thin, taut thighs, doesn't have to be me, but it _could_ be. _Can_ be. Asking, not with his mouth, something deeper. _Can I? Will he?_ ”   
“Stop,” Bull nearly begs, hiding his face in his hands.   
“I think I know what the something deeper was,” Dorian says dryly. Lavellan chokes on his wine.   
“You asked,” Cole says.   
For someone so good at manipulating people, Dorian’s honestly surprised at how poorly Bull’s taking all this. To be fair, he doubts they had Ben-Hassrath training on what to do when your psuedo-children hook up - actually, he wouldn’t put that past them. It seems about as likely as half of the other situations they trained him for.   
“He didn’t...he didn’t make you feel like you _had_ to, or anything like that, did he?” It’s clear by the increasing fear in his voice that the idea has only just occurred to Bull, and Dorian would bet money he’s already planning how best to kick his most trusted friend’s ass.   
“No,” Cole says dismissively. There’s an audible sigh of relief from all three listeners. Dorian would worry about being overheard if he thought Cole didn’t already know they were there - he’s oblivious, but he’s not stupid, and he generally assumes that whereever one of them is the other two will be close behind.   
“Honestly, thank the Maker, he’d have hated that,” Lavellan breathes, words warm against Dorian’s cheek. They’d started out at a reasonable distance, honestly, they had; the allure of the drama proved to be too much, and they usually ended up gravitating towards each other anyway. Up this close he was all blonde curls and long eyelashes, looking for all the world like Andraste’s angel except for the way he was attempting to stifle a laugh as Cole continued.   
“Do you think he could get Krem in...the family way?” Dorian muses. Lavellan falls apart, hiding his face in Dorian’s shoulder in an attempt to stifle his laughter. If Cole hadn’t been sure they were listening before, he must be now. “We’re worried about you, dear,” Dorian calls down the stairs, patting Lavellan on the back of the head. “You’ve put Bull in a rather precarious situation, here. The last thing he needs in his life is another loyalty conflict, as I’m sure you understand.”   
“You don’t want to be Tal-Vashoth again,” Cole says gravely. Dorian can barely make out the top of his blonde head turning, likely to look at Iron Bull.   
“I haven’t...stopped,” Bull says carefully. “But...yes, that’s the sentiment.”   
“You don’t have to be Tal-Vashoth again, The Iron Bull,” Cole says next. Dorian can just picture his face right now, knows he must be giving Bull that awful, earnest look. If anyone can be cruel to Cole when he’s looking at them like that, Dorian’s frightened of their resolve.   
“It’s okay,” Cole continues, voice gentle like when he handles frightened animals, which is surprisingly apt. “I said yes, The Iron Bull. He wouldn’t make me. Don’t worry.” It’s an unusually straightforward statement, which is why Dorian’s not surprised in the least when Cole follows it up with “Please don’t stab me in the neck.”   
“Sorry,” Bull says. “Force of habit.”   
He’s been getting better at breaking the habit, Dorian knows, but it’s still a little disconcerting to be reminded. He’s woken up more than once to find himself and Lavellan being watched, and he’d be lying if he hadn’t questioned Bull’s motivations in the past, but that’s over now. Dorian trusts him - if not absolutely, then almost there.

Cole leaves not long after, but Dorian doesn’t notice until Bull’s up the stairs and standing beside them, towering in a way that’d be disarming if not for the comic look of exhaustion on his face. “I’m not doing that again,” he says flatly, extending a large hand to each of his partners. Dorian takes it and lets himself be pulled upright, rolling his eyes at Lavellan’s exaggerated pout.   
“Please?” he begs, standing on tiptoe to stroke Bull’s cheek, hand dwarfed in comparison. “Krem’s _your boy,_ Kadan.”   
“Don’t _Kadan_ me.”   
He’s grumpy but fond, and the resonating smack of his hand on Lavellan’s ass is as good as a confirmation.

In retrospect, agreeing to mediate a “whole family discussion” in the Herald’s Rest was probably one of Josephine’s poorer life choices. Dorian would almost feel sorry for her if he wasn’t so busy pitying himself.   
“What do you want, Cole?” she asks wearily, head in her hands.   
Cole looks at Krem. Krem shrugs. “Asked you, didn’t she?”  
“I want my mouth on you,” Cole says blithely, and Krem’s eyes go wide and unfocused. “Yes,” Cole confirms. “Like that.” Bull lets out something that sounds rather like a sob.   
“Please,” he says, weary. “Not here. _Please._ ”   
Cole’s eyes narrow and he looks the closest Dorian’s ever seen him come to devious. “Thin, pale thighs around grey cheeks, blonde curls catching, fingers curling-”  
There’s a thud. Dorian doesn’t have to turn to confirm that yes, Cullen has fallen out of his chair.   
“I _told_ you _not to use that in arguments anymore,_ ” Bull says, agonized. Lavellan’s cheeks are pink.   
“Aren’t you only s’posed to do that when people are hurting?” Sera asks, wrinkling her nose.   
“He is,” Cole insists.   
It takes another moment for everyone to process that.   
“Maker, please tell me he’s not talking about his-” Blackwall cuts himself off, looking equal parts fascinated and horrified.   
(Josephine buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking in what might be laughter or tears. Dorian thinks there’s an equal case to be made for both.)  
“Alright!” he says, clapping his hands together to draw attention away from his unfortunate partners’ crotches.   
(He briefly wonders when he became the responsible adult here. The thought concerns him.)   
“Shall we...recess, perhaps? Resume this lovely affair at a later date, once everyone has...calmed down?”   
“No,” Lavellan insists. Bull gives him a dirty look, mouths _traitor_.   
“We’re dealing with this now,” he pleads, giving everyone around the room the same pleading look. “I can’t _live_ like this!”   
Maker, but if Dorian hadn’t managed to find himself the only other man in all of Thedas as dramatic as himself.   
“What is your proposal, Inquisitor?” Josephine somehow manages to sound professional despite the skeptical look on her face. Dorian supposes that’s why she’s so good at politics.   
(And wicked grace.)  
“I’m going to _talk,_ ” Lavellan says. “About my _feelings._ ”  
(Everyone groans.)  
He climbs onto a table to better address the room. It’d probably look inspiring if they were doing nearly anything else in the world. As it is, the longer the world goes without hearing Andraste’s Herald discussing his adopted son’s sex life, the better.  
“Krem,” he starts, “You know that I love you very much, yes?”   
Krem raises an eyebrow.  
Lavellan continues.  
“I’m...concerned,” he says carefully, “That Cole may not-”   
“Not what?”   
If it was on anyone else Dorian would describe the look as mild perturbation at best. On Cole it’s something more akin to fury. Dorian’s glad he’s not on the receiving end, but he’s more glad that Cole’s lost some of his more transient abilities, because he’s gotten attached to having Lavellan around, and he’d really hate for him to disappear now.  
“I’m not a child,” Cole says frustratedly. It’s a feeling Dorian is all too familiar with, himself. Cole’s hands are rifling through the front of his pale hair, like he can find the words there if he tries hard enough. “I know you’re all worried,” he says, shoulders dropping back into a more withdrawn posture. “I know you’re worried...about me. I appreciate that. Rhys was my friend, but you’re all...my family,” he says hesitantly.   
Varric’s been uncharacteristically quiet, and Dorian risks looking away from the action to find him. He’s taking notes.   
Dorian’d be angry if he didn’t understand completely. He’d have guessed the dialogue as Varric’s fiction himself if he wasn’t witnessing it firsthand.   
“But I don’t need you to...tell me what to do,” he finishes, looking around the room and deflating as he notices all the eyes on him. Krem’s tipped back in his chair, feet up on a table, all pride and fondness.   
It’d almost be sweet if Dorian hadn’t had to deal with everything that came beforehand.  
Bull moves quickly when he wants to, darting between chairs and clapping a massive hand on Krem’s shoulder, grunting with what Dorian supposes is approval. Before anyone’s really reacted he scoops up Dorian with one arm and Lavellan with the other, slinging them over his shoulders and carrying them out the door before Dorian has a chance to complain about his hip hitting the doorframe.   
“We’re never doing that again,” he announces, placing them both carefully on the bed once they’ve reached the Inquisitor’s quarters. “None of it. Not any of it, you understand?”   
“What about that thighs on cheeks part?” Lavellan asks, all innocence. Dorian does his best to keep a straight face, but Bull’s death glare and angry mutters in Qunlat have him giggling in a manner that’d be embarrassing if Bull and Lavellan hadn’t both already seen him in far worse situations. Lavellan loses it moments later, falling into Dorian’s side.   
Bull’s lip twitches in a way that’d be imperceptible to anyone who spent less time staring at his face than Dorian.   
“How often has he used that to win arguments?” Lavellan asks in a stage whisper, and Bull shakes his head as he climbs onto the bed beside them.   
“Too often,” he says gravely, and Dorian dissolves into giggles again. Bull joins them moments later, dropping the straight face at last.

 


End file.
